


On Our Toes

by Shi_Toyu



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Ballet, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Is A Dumpster Fire, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Dancer Bucky Barnes, Dancer Natasha Romanov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Happy Ending, Homeless Clint Barton, Homelessness, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, One Big Happy Family, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Veteran Clint Barton, but we love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu
Summary: Natasha was seventeen when she and Bucky moved permanently to the United States to make a career for themselves on Broadway. It was there that Bucky met Steve, a New York native with an impressive stage presence. He had connections, too, and Natasha appreciated Bucky’s friendship with him from a practical standpoint before eventually becoming friends with Steve in her own right. She tended to be more reclusive than Bucky when it came to social entanglements, but Steve brought along his own circle of friends. Before Natasha knew it, she had a group of people she enjoyed seeing and going out with for the first time.Enter Clint Barton, a homeless veteran who Natasha meets by chance and can't get out of her head. In turn, she's nothing like he could have ever expected. Together, they'll keep each other on their toes.





	On Our Toes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelmeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/gifts).

> For the incredible rebelmeg! Thank you so, so much for the amazing cross-stitch pieces! I hope this is everything you wanted!

Growing up in Russia, ballet hadn’t just been a hobby or even a childish dream of being on the big stage. Ballet was a way out, a way up. It was the only route to take to get off the streets of the slums and to make something of a life all too easily cut short. By the time Natasha was seven, it was clear she had an exceptional talent, honed by dedicated practice. By the time she was nine, she’d met a boy who could match that talent and dedication. By the time she was thirteen, she and Bucky were touring across Europe, appearing in shows and competitions as they strove closer and closer to their true goal.

Natasha was seventeen when she and Bucky moved permanently to the United States to make a career for themselves on Broadway. It was there that Bucky met Steve, a New York native with an impressive stage presence. He had connections, too, and Natasha appreciated Bucky’s friendship with him from a practical standpoint before eventually becoming friends with Steve in her own right. She tended to be more reclusive than Bucky when it came to social entanglements, but Steve brought along his own circle of friends. Before Natasha knew it, she had a group of people she enjoyed seeing and going out with for the first time.

It was a good life, the one they had made for themselves, only growing better as the years passed. Opportunities opened up and new productions gained popularity until Natasha and Bucky – and Steve – found themselves working together on the set of the Avengers. They’d gone on one tour across the US as the original cast before settling into the Stark Theatre in New York. Tourist traffic ensured that they always had a fresh audience and the theatre’s owner, Tony, had signed them on for a minimum of three years. The show’s director, Thor, was a good man to work for, too. He had a flair for the dramatics, but he was the solid sort.

Everyone on the production was a pleasure to work with, actually – even Loki, their props and costume manager. Carol Danvers, who played the female lead, had become a particular favorite of Natasha’s. The two of them, along with the sisters Gamora and Nebula, the theatre manager Pepper, and Loki’s go-to designer Janet, got together regularly for drinks. Natasha had never seen the appeal of ‘Ladies Nights’ before meeting them, but their little troupe had grown close. Steve’s long-time girlfriend, Peggy, also joined them on occasion.

“Very good, very good!” Thor called out, clapping, and Bucky gently lowered Natasha back to the ground from their lift. Around them, the other dancers also came to a stop. “Wonderful work today! Just wonderful. I think that about wraps things up. I look forward to seeing you all here sat 10 sharp tomorrow. Keep in mind that we’ll be putting on a matinee _and_ our standard evening performance, so rest up tonight. And lots of fluids! I don’t want anyone getting dehydrated.”

He gave Peter Quill, Gamora’s dance partner, a pointed look. Peter held up both hands, looking chagrined.

“It was _one time!_”

Thor’s frown was stern.

“Let’s keep it that way. I’ll be in my office for the next hour if anyone needs me.”

They broke out of formation after that, cast and crew mingling as they shuffled off stage and started heading home. There would be no going out for drinks tonight. Well, maybe for some of them. Natasha wasn’t sure Logan ever went a 24-hour span without a drink. Bucky and Steve stepped to the side to discuss plans for dinner while Natasha knelt to remove her ballet slippers. She preferred going barefoot whenever possible anyway. She glanced up almost instinctively as the large-overhead lighting rig shut off, extinguishing the stage lights and bringing the rest of the theatre back into visibility.

That was probably the only reason she saw it – sheer happenstance. There was just a flicker of movement up in the eaves, where nothing but long-term storage was as far as Natasha knew. No one should be up there. She’d seen _something_, though…

“What do you say, Nat? The Mediterranean place on Third for dinner tonight? I could go for their orzo salad, as long as they actually hold the cheese this time.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her partner and friend.

“Alessandro will never hold the cheese unless you come down with an actual medical condition to justify it and you know it. That’s exactly why you like it there so much.”

Bucky just grinned, completely unashamed. Natasha supposed she couldn’t have really expected anything different. Bucky liked to bitch and moan about their eating habits, but none of them were watching their food _that_ closely. If anything, the number of calories they burnt through during practices and performances meant they ate _more_ than the average person. Bucky just wanted those calories to come from burgers and French fries rather than veggies and lean protein.

“It’s fine,” she agreed, once it became clear Bucky had no other response to offer. “I assume Steve needs time for Peggy to get off work first?”

As an investigative journalist, Peggy didn’t exactly work regular hours, but she usually tried her best to be available for Thursday night dinners. It was practically tradition by this point.

“It shouldn’t be more than about two hours,” Bucky confirmed.

Natasha hummed in acknowledgement, removing her other shoe and glancing back up at the eaves – now dark and still.

“Great. I’ll meet you back at the apartment in a bit, then.”

Bucky’s attention visibly sharpened, his shoulders stiffening, and Natasha did her best to smother the affection that swelled within her. She hauled herself back up to standing and patted Bucky comfortingly on his pec.

“It’s alright. I just have something I want to talk to Loki about. I’m hoping he’s managed to fix the spot where my tutu’s taffeta was pulling away from the leotard during the last performance. He was absolutely livid it hadn’t been tacked down properly to begin with, remember?”

She could feel his tension melt away even as Bucky grimaced.

“I don’t envy whoever made _that_ mistake.”

Natasha chuckled.

“Neither do I.”

“Alright. I’ll see you at home, then.”

Bucky pressed a quick kiss to Natasha’s brow and headed off. She watched him go for a long moment before heading off stage herself. She slipped between crew members, saying goodbyes as she went. She and Loki exchanged brief nods of acknowledgment as she passed the costuming area where he was going through each of the outfits one by one and making notes on his tablet. It took her less than five minutes to climb to the top floor and reach the door leading into the attic space.

The door’s handle was locked, which wasn’t exactly surprising. Luckily, ballet wasn’t the only skill Natasha had learned as a child to help her survive. She pulled two pins from where her hair was tucked into a tight bun and, after checking the hallway one last time, slid them into the lock. It wasn’t a priority location, like the offices or more frequently used storage areas, so the lock was a fairly basic one. She felt along carefully, shifting her pins as she went until she heard the click of the lock turning. Smiling to herself, she pushed the door open silently and slipped inside.

The room was wide, and long, with a slanted ceiling that spanned the entire width of the theatre, if not it’s entire depth. It was dusky, only a few rays of light spilling forth from the gap behind the lighting rig and some slats of the air vent at the other end of the room that’d shifted out of place. The space was cluttered, too, only further limiting visibility. Old props stood sentinel throughout the space, covered by dust clothes. A gentle breeze drifted through the air, tickling Natasha’s nose with years of undisturbed dust. It didn’t look like anyone had been up here in ages.

Maybe the shadow she’d seen had just been a trick of the light after all. Of course, it had been. It’d been silly to think someone was actually up here. Natasha liked to think she’d left behind such childish flights of fancy, but apparently not. Feeling a bit irritated with herself, Natasha moved deeper into the quiet space. Her barefoot steps, naturally light, were even more silent across the dust-covered floorboards. She would have to wash her feet in the bathroom sink before she put her tennis shoes on to head home.

In contrast, the sounds from outside the space were amplified. There wasn’t much going on, now that most everyone had cleared out, but she could make out the sounds of the last of the crew moving about and chatting down below. The acoustics of the room were actually incredibly impressive. If it weren’t for the complete lack of visual, Natasha would’ve been surprised Tony hadn’t converted the space into some kind of lounge. She moved closer to the gap by the lighting rig, wanting to peek out at the aerial view of the stage. Dust motes danced in the cool air and it was oddly tranquil. She could just imagine what it might be like in this space when it was filled with the sound of a full orchestra.

The gap itself was triangular in shape with wooden slats running horizontally, only about two feet tall at its highest point and four feet wide between each end. The ground was less dusty here, probably due to the air drafts. Natasha approached the gap, old wooden boards creaking underfoot. The theatre building itself was over 100 years old. Now that Natasha thought about it, the flooring up here was probably original. She’d need to be careful. Who knew when the last time they’d been serviced was? Crouching next to the gap, Natasha leaned forward, into the light, reaching out to place a hand on the gap’s frame to steady herself.

A shout caught in her throat as a hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her roughly back. Reacting on instinct, Natasha twisted sharply and threw an elbow at her attacker. Whoever it was grunted, the depth of the voice revealing them as a male. Natasha threw herself away from him, further into the attic, kicking out as she went. The grip on her wrist was released and she heard the fumbling sounds of someone stumbling backwards.

“Shit! _Shit!_ Sorry! I’m not gonna hurt you, promise!”

Natasha would be the judge of that. She rolled into a crouch, eyeing her attacker. Despite the bulkiness of his form, it was immediately obvious how she’d missed him on her trek through the room. The man’s clothing was dark, though it looked like it was more due to stains and dirt caked into the fabric than any intentional choice on his part. An all-weather jacket was layered over a tattered pullover hoodie and cargo pants tucked into heavy, worn boots. The boots looked like the only part of his wardrobe that actually fit him. His hair was as unkept as the rest of him – Natasha wasn’t sure if the color was dirty blond or just blond and dirty – and he had at least a week’s worth of beard growth. The coarse hair didn’t quite cover up the fresh red mark across his cheek from where her elbow had struck him.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the man was homeless. There were plenty of homeless individuals around the city. Natasha didn’t think she ever went a day without seeing one, especially near the theatre where tourist traffic meant a steady flow of people to ask for change. She’d never felt unsafe around them before – they were just people – but there was a big difference between encountering someone on the street and in a confined space where they most definitely weren’t supposed to be.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, sounding aggressive if only to cover up the furious beating of her heart.

The man shuffled back a few more steps, as much as the space would allow. He kept his hands raised to about shoulder height, a further show that he didn’t mean harm. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he pointed back toward the gap overlooking the theatre.

“The wood on the frame’s rotten,” he said, instead of answering her question. “I didn’t mean to grab you, but I was afraid you might fall.”

Natasha’s gaze flickered over to the wood paneling. Sure enough, the frame of the opening looked brittle and fragile. She’d been too focused on the floorboards and looking out the gap to notice earlier. It might not have given way beneath her hand but, if it had, she very realistically could have been sent toppling out into open air. Her gut clenched painfully at the thought.

“Oh,” was all she could manage for a moment before the embarrassment rushed in. Looking back at the man once more, she winced at the sight of the mark on his cheek. “I suppose I owe you a thank you, then, and an apology.”

Lowering his hands back to his side, he just shrugged awkwardly.

“I should know better than to go grabbing people from behind.” He grinned. “That was a solid elbow, though. I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley, that’s for sure.”

His tone was joking, now that it seemed the initial tension had passed. Natasha wasn’t so easily taken in, though.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she informed him, for all that she was very sure he already knew.

Instead of showing any concern over being caught, he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Neither are you, I’m pretty sure. No one ever comes up here.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. So, this wasn’t his first time sneaking into the attic. Did he sleep here? Was this his bolt hole? She supposed it was probably better than a park bench or huddled under a bridge. Why didn’t he just go to a shelter? Maybe he liked the solitary nature of it, but it didn’t really matter. If Pepper caught him squatting, she wouldn’t take kindly to it.

“I only came up because I spotted _you_. You can’t stay here, you know.”

The man shuffled around a bit, flopping down on a cloth-covered chaise lounge and sending up a cloud of dust.

“Sure, I can. I mean, unless you snitch. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, though. There are a few other theatres in the city I can go to, but this one is definitely my favorite.”

Maybe it was his confidence that had Natasha pausing, or maybe it was completely uncharacteristic guilt over the fact that he’d possibly saved her life – even if it was in the dumbest way possible – and she’d hit him in the face for it, but she found herself hesitant to report him.

“What do you mean?” she asked instead of giving him any assurance one way or the other.

The uncertainty of it didn’t seem to phase him any more than the rest of their interaction had, outside of the initial confrontation.

“Better insulation,” was his reasoning. “Cool in the summer and at least not quite as frigid in the winter. And the sound.” He gestured toward the gap overlooking the stage. “I like to listen to the music and the quality is nice here.”

Natasha’s eyebrows rose, caught not so much by what he said as what it implied.

“Just how long have you been staying here?”

“Oh, I don’t stay here,” he assured, “not all the time. I just hang out a lot. It’s nice. Been coming by for,” his nose wrinkled in thought, “a couple years, maybe? Found it maybe six months after I got shipped back, so…”

He shrugged and said no more.

Natasha watched him for a while longer, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. He didn’t seem to be causing any harm, but there was no way for her to really know that. She should report him, no matter that he’d possibly saved her life. She wouldn’t even have to admit that she’d broken in here. She could just say she saw someone through the gap during rehearsal. It wouldn’t even be lying.

She knew she wasn’t going to say a word, though, not to Thor or Pepper or even Bucky. Whatever the reasoning – and she wasn’t entirely sure what it was herself – she simply didn’t want to.

She hoped it didn’t come back to bite her in the ass.

“What’s your name?” she asked, deciding that this, at least, she wanted to know.

The man snuggled further into the chaise lounge; one dirt-caked boot crossed over the other.

“Clint.”

“Well, thank you, Clint. I’m Natasha. Your secret is safe with me.”

.

Natasha did her best to put Clint out of her mind after that, focusing on her work and their back-to-back performances. It wasn’t easy, though. Every moment she was on stage, she felt like there were eyes on her. It was inexplicable. Having an audience had never bothered her before, there was no reason for it to now. She constantly found herself glancing up toward the gap behind the lighting rig, though, searching for another glimpse of him. It was absurd, especially considering she couldn’t even be sure he was there.

Her performance didn’t suffer – she was far too much of a professional to allow that to happen – but it only took a few days for Bucky to pick up on it. She dodged his questions as best she could, both helped and hindered by how well they knew each other. As much as she knew just what to say to push his buttons, Bucky knew all of her tells. When it became clear she had no interest in telling him what was on her mind, Bucky seemed to accept it. He couldn’t hide his concern, but he didn’t ask any more questions, either. That was one of the things she loved most about Bucky; he’d never tried to own her.

Eventually, Natasha came to the conclusion that the reason she couldn’t stop thinking about the homeless man in the attic was because there were just too many questions there. She’d always had a need to _know_ everything, probably the reason she’d headed up to the attic instead of telling someone she’d seen something in the first place. Clint was a mystery and had dropped just enough breadcrumbs in their last chat to get her mind churning over all the possibilities. If she could just learn his story, the fascination would disappear, and she could get on with her life.

Without knowing when Clint would return to the attic area or where else she could find him; Natasha knew her options were limited. Still, she’d never let limited options stop her before. It was only after she’d penned the thank you note and request to meet again that it occurred to her that Clint might not be able to read. It didn’t seem like he’d been homeless for more than a few years, so she hoped he could. Nothing much to be done about it, though. She placed the letter in a small bag along with an assortment of energy bars and a few apples, nuts, and tangerines, things that would last a few days without going bad. Before practice, she slipped upstairs to the attic again and left the bag on the lounge Clint had taken up the other day.

She was surprised when, after practice that same day, she spotted a familiar face by the entrance to the theatre’s back alley. Clint was markedly cleaner than the last time she’d seen him, and clean-shaven, revealing a strong, handsome jaw. The bag she’d left for him dangled from one hand. When he saw that she’d spotted him, he inclined his head toward the alley behind him and slipped out of sight.

“Go on without me,” she told Bucky, already turning back to follow Clint. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait. You miss this train, it’ll take you an extra hour to get back to the apartment.”

Natasha waved his concern away.

“It’ll be fine. See you at home.”

She waited until he headed down into the subway to enter the alley. The last thing she needed was him getting suspicious and asking too many questions. For all that Bucky trusted her to take care of herself, he was also far too nosey when something interesting caught his attention. And Natasha sneaking off into an alley to meet some homeless guy? That would be downright irresistible. She’d have Bucky and Steve both trailing after her before she could even blink.

Once she was in the alley itself, it was easy to spot Clint leaning up against the dumpster.

“You wanted to meet?” he asked, forgoing any greeting or small talk. He’d kept his jovial attitude, though, so she didn’t think he was annoyed by the request. “If you’re going for some good Samaritan, get the homeless guy into some shelter thing, I should warn you now it’s not going to happen and the efforts are completely unwanted.”

“Is that something you encounter often?” she couldn’t help asking.

Clint shrugged.

“On occasion. Anyone who sticks around figures out pretty quick that it’s a lost cause. They tend to aim lower. Like Sam.”

“Sam?”

Clint hummed.

“My case worker at the VA. He bribes me with pizza sometimes if I shower, shave and show up to a group therapy session.”

He gestured to his face for emphasis and Natasha tried not to react too strongly and give away just how much she wanted to know more.

“Pizza is a good motivator.”

“Pizza is the _best_ motivator,” he agreed sagely. “So, if you’re not here to ‘save’ me, what do you want?”

Now that she was faced with the reality of possibly getting the answers she wanted, Natasha found herself suddenly hesitating. Was it rude to ask about Clint’s life? To ask why he’d rather sleep on the streets than in a shelter? Probably. Most certainly, actually, but she still wanted to know. There was just something about Clint that fascinated her.

“I’m… curious,” she finally admitted, not wanting to spook him by seeming too eager. “I was hoping you’d be willing to answer some questions for me.”

Despite her efforts, Clint looked instantly skeptical.

“If I didn’t already know you were a dancer, I’d ask if you were a reporter. What’s your angle? What’re you getting out of it?”

“My questions answered.”

There wasn’t much more to it than that. Natasha was curious and she wanted to sate that curiosity. Really, if she were being completely honest, she’d have to admit that she and Bucky really weren’t all that different after all. That was exactly why she kept letting herself be drawn into so many of his and Steve’s ridiculous schemes. Those boys might find trouble like no one else she’d ever met, but she was always right there behind them with a shovel to dig them out of it. Or to dig them deeper.

Clint gave her a long, assessing look.

“Alright,” he finally allowed, “but it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

Natasha was not about to let herself be taken advantage of, not even to sate her curiosity.

“All the coffee I can drink,” Clint informed her without hesitation, “and pizza. Enough for me and Lucky.”

That seemed reasonable enough. Natasha gave an approving nod.

“Deal. Who’s Lucky?”

Even a second person wouldn’t be too much more to feed. And she had a firm belief that a warm meal was never wasted on a hungry mouth. At least he hadn’t turned out to be a creep or tried to ask for cash to spend on who knew what.

Clint’s grin was huge on his face.

“You’ll love him. Lucky’s my dog.”

“You have a dog?”

.

They stopped for pizza and coffee on the way at a tiny little corner place that Clint swore was the best in the city. He hung back while Natasha went inside to order, claiming they’d caught him in their dumpsters too many times for him to be allowed inside. The thought of it turned Natasha’s stomach, admittedly, but she tried to push that instinctual reaction down. Clint was only trying to survive and get by. She could hardly judge him for doing what he needed to do to make that happen.

Once she had two large pepperonis and a to-go carafe of coffee in hand, she rejoined Clint outside and they continued on their way. It was fascinating to traverse the city with Clint. He would duck down alleys Natasha would have ignored a hundred times over and slip through abandoned buildings to use as shortcuts. They covered ground quicker than she would have thought possible. They chatted along the way, but it was mostly about meaningless things. They had seemed to come to the silent agreement to save the real questions for once they were at their destination.

Finally, Clint guided her down yet another alley, climbing atop a dumpster and leaping into the air to grab hold of a fire escape ladder and drag it to the ground. Natasha eyed the building it was attached to critically. It was an apartment building of some sort, as far as she could tell. It seemed decent enough – not upscale by any means, but not crumbling to pieces, either. There were flower boxes in some of the windows, so it was clearly occupied.

Clint grinned at her and gestured up the ladder.

“Ladies first.”

She handed off the pizza boxes to him, adjusted her grip on the carafe, and climbed up, pausing on the first landing to watch him manage the climb carrying both boxes with surprising ease. They climbed the stairs between each landing the rest of the way to the roof, stepping over the brick safety wall and onto gravel. Natasha looked around curiously, not entirely sure what she was expecting to find – some sort of tent city, perhaps? They were the only ones on the roof, though.

There was a door in one corner of the roof that looked like it led down into the building below, a cement patio surrounding it that took up about half the space of the roof. There was a covered grill with two tables and chairs. The other half of the roof seemed occupied by small sheds, simple constructs meant for tools or other long-term storage. One had come with the unit she and Bucky shared, though theirs was in the building’s basement.

Clint beelined for one at the end of the row, the door slightly ajar.

“Lucky!” he called. “Where are you, boy? We’ve got a guest for dinner tonight.”

He frowned when no response came, handing the pizza boxes back to Natasha and approaching the shed with a bit more caution now.

“Lucky?”

Natasha hung back as he ducked inside, hovering near the door to peek past the entrance without intruding. The space was tiny, as expected, but it’d been set up in a surprisingly functional manner. There was a cot pushed against one wall that had a sleeping bag and a blanket tossed on top of it. One end of the cot was tucked underneath the workbench on the far side, along with what looked like a small filing cabinet, a radiator, and a fan. The workbench itself was a mess of assorted paraphernalia strewn across its surface, including a Mr. Coffee with an electrical cord dangling over the side. A few storage bins and trash bags of unknown contents littered the shelves.

Clint knelt beside the cot, bent over to look underneath. He made a wounded sort of noise at whatever he saw underneath.

“Aw, Lucky, no,” he lamented, but he sounded more like he was pouting than genuinely distressed, so Natasha didn’t get too worried. “Did Mrs. Curtis get her hands on you again?”

There were some shuffling noises from under the cot, where Natasha surmised Clint’s dog was hiding.

“I know, buddy, I know,” Clint soothed, reaching under the cot to coax the dog out, “but we’ve got pizza for dinner tonight – it’s still hot and everything – and tomorrow we can go out and find a nice patch of mud for you to roll around in, okay? How does that sound?”

Apparently not good enough, because Lucky still wasn’t moving. Clint sat back on his heels with a sigh.

“Alright, then. Pulling out the big guns it is.” He turned to Natasha. “Pass me a slice, would you?”

Setting the carafe aside and balancing the boxes between her body and the wall of the shed, Natasha pulled out a slice and passed it to Clint, assuming he’d given up on the dog and had decided to get on with dinner. Instead, he waved the slice in front of the cot.

A large, golden-furred bullet shot out from underneath, nearly bowling a laughing Clint over as its jaws snapped up the pizza in about two bites. Natasha stared. Clint grinned, burying his fingers in the dog’s fur to give him a good rubdown.

“Lucky, meet Natasha. Natasha, Lucky.”

Lucky wiggled happily, tail wagging furiously back and forth as he scrambled over Clint’s lap and toward Natasha, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air for more pizza. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he managed to look like an excitable, overgrown puppy even with one eye missing. Natasha hefted the pizza boxes higher, but held out one hand for Lucky to sniff. Instead, he began joyously licking over her palm.

“There we go,” Clint said approvingly, “now we’re all friends. Sorry about the hiding. One of the neighbors takes him for walks during the day and sometimes forces him to take a bath. He hates it.”

Relieving her of the pizza boxes, Clint led them back toward the patio, flopping into a seat at one of the tables. Natasha followed after him, trying to add these new pieces to the puzzle.

“So, they know you live here?” she asked, gesturing to the apartment building below them.

Clint hummed around the slice of pizza he was already stuffing in his mouth, another held out for Lucky to scarf. Wiping her slobber-covered hand on her jeans, Natasha took a seat and helped herself to a slice as well. It _was_ pretty good pizza.

“Sure. Technically, I own the building.”

Natasha nearly dropped her food.

“You what?”

Clint shrugged.

“I bought it dirt cheap through a friend before I even got fully discharged from the military. I’d only ever seen pictures of the place, but I thought it’d be perfect, you know? Being a landlord sounded great. I’d be my own boss, wouldn’t have to conform to some nine to five schedule, and I could live in one of the apartments so I wouldn’t have to deal with a commute. I sank every penny of my savings into buying it.”

His grin turned rueful.

“I found asbestos in the walls my second week back, when I was just starting in on the renovations and updates I wanted to do to the units – threw everything out of whack. Suddenly there was another six months on the timeline before I could get renters into the units, the money I’d gotten a loan for to cover the renovations wasn’t enough anymore, and the place I’d been living wasn’t going to put me up for that long. The short and the sweet of it is that, by the time I was able to start renting, I was so in debt that I needed the money of renting out every spare unit.”

“So, you live up here rather that in one of the apartments,” Natasha stated, not at all sure what to say in response to all that. What _could_ someone say?

Clint didn’t seem bothered by the confession, though. He just hummed in agreement and snagged another piece of pizza.

“All the money I actually make off this place goes straight to paying off my debt from the loan. If it didn’t, I’d run the risk of losing the place all-together. That’s not an option. If I lose it, I lose everything.”

It was a shitty situation, but Natasha could definitely see how easy a trap it’d been to fall into. Even if Clint defaulted on the loan, lost the building and filed for bankruptcy, he wouldn’t be any better off. Without a place to live and with no way to support himself even the slightest bit, he’d actually be in a worse situation. At least here, there was the light at the end of the tunnel of him paying off the loan and eventually beginning to make that money for himself.

“How much longer do you have to go?”

Another tilted grin.

“I’ve got a couple more years.”

The shadows flickering behind his eyes hinted that statement might be lowballing it, but Natasha didn’t press. It was remarkable that Clint was telling her any of this stuff at all. Natasha didn’t think she could have been so open with a stranger.

“Oh, no,” Clint cut through her thoughts. “Don’t go looking like that. It’s not so bad. I do like the work I do fixing up things for renters, and the neighbors are great, even if Mrs. Curtis keeps traumatizing my dog by taking him to the groomers. And I don’t think I ever would have been caught dead in a ballet theatre if I hadn’t been looking for someplace for a bit of peace and quiet.”

Attempting to school her expression to something that didn’t give so much away, Natasha latched on to the subject change.

“You mentioned you liked the acoustics there,” she acknowledged, remembering what he’d said the first time they’d met.

“I love New York, but sometimes the noise of it all- It gets to be too much, you know?” he said, making a vague hand-wavy motion at his head.

Natasha wondered if he had PTSD. A lot of returning soldiers did, from what she understood, but she didn’t know much about it. It felt too invasive to ask, though, so she didn’t. Instead, she decided his willingness to share deserved some confessions in return.

“I get it. I grew up on the streets in Russia. My neighborhood was pretty quiet, but the city itself never was.”

Clint’s face lit up.

“So that’s where your accent comes from! It’s so faint I couldn’t place it.”

He seemed so genuinely excited that it was hard to take offense. Instead, Natasha just ran her nails through Lucky’s fur as he plopped his head into her lap.

“I’ve worked hard to get rid of as much of it as I can. It makes things easier over here.”

The Cold War may have been over, but there were still old grudges that lay beneath the surface, buried so deep that most people didn’t even realize they were there.

She and Clint traded more questions as they finished off the pizzas and Clint downed the entire carafe of coffee on his own, the man seeming just as interested in her backstory as she was in his. It wasn’t until Natasha’s phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to look at the screen that she realized how much time had passed. Night had fallen over the city and four hours had passed since rehearsal had ended. Bucky’s message sat innocently enough on her phone, but Natasha could read the worry between the words there.

_Everything ok?_

Shit. She should have been long home by now. Nothing had happened to either of them since they’d arrived in New York, but one couldn’t be friends with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter without knowing good and well the dangers of the city. It didn’t help that Natasha wasn’t one to disappear without a word. She kept to a fairly regular schedule and deviations were usually planned and mentioned ahead of time. Of course her dropping off the map would cause concern.

“Sorry, it’s my partner. Let me just reply to this real quick.”

_All good. I just met up with someone and lost track of time. I’ll be home later._

“Bucky, right?” Clint asked as she typed out her reply.

They’d talked about him a bit already, and their history together.

“Yeah. We’ve been roommates since we moved to the States and he’s just concerned I haven’t come home yet.”

Clint blew out a breath of air, wide eyed.

“I couldn’t imagine having to live with someone I worked with. I mean, I obviously did that in the military, but that’s different than sharing an apartment.”

Natasha shrugged, frowning at Bucky’s response, which was full of eggplant and peach emojis. It didn’t deserve a reply, she decided.

“Being dance partners in Russia is a very serious matter. We had to match very well for it. Plus, we spent practically every moment practicing, so we more or less lived together anyway. And then we were always together on the road as we traveled for performances. It seemed a natural transition.”

“I guess, when you put it like that, I can get it. Do you need to head home, though?”

Natasha glanced at her phone again, frowning. She didn’t want to end their conversation, but…

“I probably should. It’s getting late and we have a performance tomorrow.”

Clint nodded and grabbed up the pizza boxes, probably to dispose of in the dumpster downstairs.

“We can’t have you yawning while up on your tippy-toes. I’ll walk you home. I’ve gotta take Lucky out before bed, anyway. C’mon, we can even take the elevator this time, since we’ve got a four-legged companion.”

Lucky, sensing that he was going to get to come with them, was wagging his tail so hard his entire body wiggled along with it. He certainly seemed happy and well taken care of with Clint as his owner, and Natasha had to wonder how they’d come together. Lucky was definitely older than if Clint had gotten him as a puppy after returning, and his missing eye was a tell-tale sign of a life hard lived at some point. Natasha was sure there was a story behind it, but she hadn’t gotten around to asking.

“Would it be alright if we did this again sometime?” she asked as Clint unlocked the door into the building and held it open for Lucky to shoot off through.

“I’d like that.”

.

Natasha felt as if she were dancing on air during the next day’s performance, and the sensation was only heightened when she popped up to the attic afterwards to find a bouquet of flowers waiting for her. They looked like something a child might put together from flowers on the side of the road, and Natasha thought that was somehow very fitting for Clint. Bucky gave her a few significant glances when she returned with them, but that did nothing to quell the smile stretched across her lips.

.

Her meetings with Clint became a somewhat regular thing after that, the man always appearing out of the blue in some level of disarray. Sometimes they went back to Clint’s place and spent hours chatting on the roof, watching the sun set and sharing a pizza and beer. Sometimes they’d swing by for Lucky and head to the park so he could run around and chase the ducks. He was always a big hit with whatever small children were present.

Natasha met a few of Clint’s tenants over the next month, including the infamous Mrs. Curtis, who’d been bringing up some fresh baked banana bread and was immediately flustered by the fact that Clint ‘had a girl over.’ There was Aimee, a young woman who worked as a bike messenger and her girlfriend. A man who went by Grills showed up every so often to use the grill and always brought extra food to share. She also had brief encounters with Deke, Tito, and a few others. They all seemed to love Clint and sing his praises as a landlord.

She learned that Clint did, indeed, have PTSD, and the music at the theatre helped him calm down from sensory overloads. Natasha learned to recognize the signs and did her best to support him where she could, though she felt like she wasn’t able to do much. It sucked, but Clint was pretty good about managing his own mental health and would take himself over to the VA when he got past a certain point. That seemed to help. They settled into a comfortable routine.

So, of course, something had to go wrong.

It happened one afternoon after a rehearsal. Natasha and Clint rarely met up at the theatre following an actual performance because of the people who would be around on the streets. Meeting up after a practice was a semi-regular affair, though. They’d planned to meet that day, but Natasha found herself delayed slightly by Bucky being his nosey self. While he didn’t seem concerned, he’d definitely gotten the impression that Natasha had been meeting up with some mysterious suiter for sexy liaisons and teased her about it endlessly. As time passed, he’d gotten more inquisitive about just who it was.

“You know I’m going to find out eventually.”

Natasha just rolled her eyes.

“I know you will. I don’t plan on keeping him a secret.”

While Bucky’s assumptions might have been a bit off the mark, Natasha hadn’t felt the need to set him straight. They may not have kissed, but there was definitely something growing between her and Clint. Natasha wanted to know more about just where that was going before she dragged Clint more fully into her life, though. She’d always been cautious with relationships, having been dragged into most of her existing friendships by Bucky, and this was no different. She wanted clarity, something _established_.

“Really? Because you refusing to tell me anything about him seems pretty secretive.”

“I haven’t refused to tell you anything. I told you he has a dog.”

Bucky rolled his eyes hard.

“Yeah, because that’s _so much_ information.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

“All I want is a name!”

Which was a lie, and they both knew it.

“Good_bye_, Bucky!”

Natasha hiked her bag higher on her shoulder and headed out, casting a cursory glance over the street before ducking into the alley she and Clint used as their usual meeting spot. The man himself was leaning up against the dumpster, also as per usual. His beard was growing back in, but Natasha estimated that it was nearly the length where Sam would bribe him to shave again. They seemed to have a routine with it. He waved to her cheekily, customary grin in place. It wasn’t enough to hide the shadows in his eyes, though, and Natasha knew they’d be spending a quiet day at his place today, keeping away from crowds. Maybe later on, Natasha could convince him to pull out his radio and draw him into some ridiculous dancing. That always helped get his mind off things.

She’d barely managed to get out a greeting before a car passing on the street backfired.

Clint reacted instantly, his eyes widening and taking on that unique sheen that came with unbridled fear. He darted forward, covering the space between them in an instant to grab Natasha’s wrist and yank her further into the alley, making her drop her bag. She couldn’t help the surprised yelp that escaped her as he herded her behind the dumpster, head up and gaze darting around as if looking for enemies. He crowded her into the corner, shielding her body from view with his own. The car backfiring must have sounded like a gunshot, Natasha realized.

“Clint. Clint, it’s okay. You’re okay,” she tried to soothe him. He’d never had an episode like this in front of her before and she hoped she could talk him down from it. “It’s not real, Clint. You’re in New York. You’re home. You’re _safe_.”

His focus had just barely managed to track back to her face when the back of his jacket was grabbed and he was pulled up and off of her. Clint was all but thrown across the alley, landing hard and having to scramble back to his feet. He launched himself at their attacker a split second later and both of them went down in a flailing pile of limbs. It took Natasha a moment to even catch up with what was happening and then she, too, threw herself forward. She’d recognize that mane of dark hair anywhere.

“Stop! Bucky! Clint!”

With a growl of frustration, she shoved herself bodily between them, forcing them to quit their fighting if they didn’t want to hit her in the process. Clint’s arms immediately wrapped around her waist and he tried pulling her backwards and away, in turn making Bucky start after them again, expression furious.

“Get your hands off her!”

Natasha cut him a steely glare that stopped him in his tracks before twisting around in Clint’s arms and framing his face with her hands.

“Clint, I need you to listen to me, okay? You are _safe_. _We_ are _safe_. We’re in New York. You’re out of the war. No one is going to hurt you here. Can you come back to me?”

It probably wasn’t a very convincing argument, considering Clint had been in a fist fight just moments before, and it took several more minutes before Clint was able to shake himself out of the flashback. His head drooped slowly, coming to rest in the crook of her neck and shoulder, and his grip on her waist eventually transitioned from restraining to clinging. Bucky tried to speak up several times during the process, but Natasha silenced him with a look whenever she caught him opening his mouth.

“Sorry,” she finally heard Clint mumble against her skin. “Sorry, I-“

“Not at all,” she shushed him. It was hardly his fault. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

The arms around her waist gave a thankful squeeze and they spent a little bit longer in silence before Clint managed to pull himself away, though he didn’t go far. Natasha took one of his hands in hers and pressed their shoulders together.

“Now, then,” she said, turning back to Bucky, “what in the _hell_ were you thinking?”

Bucky just looked lost and so, hopelessly confused, gaze darting back and forth between the two of them as he tried to wrap his mind around what could possibly be going on here.

“I was heading for the subway when I heard you yell. Your bag was on the ground and this guy was shoving you behind a dumpster. What was I supposed to think?”

Natasha winced. She could see his point. It definitely couldn’t have looked good. She probably would have reacted the same way if their positions had been reversed. In fact, she knew she would, considering the way she and Clint had met in the first place. For all that they’d grown pretty close over the past month, she was well aware that Clint didn’t exactly look like the kind of person she’d hang out with willingly. What was worse, she knew Clint realized it, too. He was all but curling in on himself beside her. It was far from the first meeting she would have hoped for.

“Bucky, this is Clint,” she settled on, somewhat at a loss of how else to proceed. “Clint, Bucky.”

Clint raised his hand up a bit in what could almost be considered a wave before dropping it back to his side while Bucky just continued to look utterly bewildered.

“So, what, exactly, was going on here?”

“Clint and I were going to get pizza. The car backfiring just surprised us, is all.”

“And his first instinct was to _drag you behind a dumpster_?”

The disbelief was clear in Bucky’s voice, and Natasha could feel her hackles rising in response. She and Bucky rarely fought, but she felt very protective of Clint, especially when he was in such a vulnerable moment. She was just about to snap back when she felt Clint pulling away.

“He’s right,” he rasped, voice hushed and eyes haunted. “I should go.”

“Clint, no-“

“It’s fine. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

He all but bolted out of the alley, and Natasha knew better than to think she could catch up with him if he really wanted to lose her. She’d swing by his place later to check on him, once she’d dealt with Bucky. She stomped back toward the entrance to the alley, snatching up her bag as she went.

“Good going, Iakov,” she hissed as she passed him, not using his nickname just to show how angry she truly was.

He trailed after her, as flabbergasted as ever.

“How the hell did _I_ wind up the bad guy here?”

.

“Clint?” Natasha called as she pushed the door onto the roof open and peeked out.

It’d taken her a bit to settle things with Bucky, mostly because Steve had shown up in the middle of the explanation and she’d had to start all over again. They were having some trouble grasping the situation, but Natasha couldn’t exactly blame them. It was a lot to take in. She had other things to worry about, though. They could sort themselves out.

She greeted Lucky as the dog came bounding up to her, scratching him behind the ears just the way he liked. He plodded after her as she crossed the roof to where Clint’s shed sat. The door was cracked open, as per usual, but there were no other signs of life. Natasha sighed. There was no way of knowing where Clint had gone after the confrontation earlier – hopefully to the VA – but he’d have to come back eventually. If he wasn’t here, she could just wait around until he showed up.

It didn’t come to that, though, as Clint was easy to spot as soon as she looked into the shed itself. He was curled up against one of the walls, head down on his knees and arms around his shins like a little kid. He didn’t look up when Natasha stepped inside, even though she knew he had to have heard her. She took a seat on his cot as Lucky headed over to stick his nose in his owner’s ear.

“Hey.”

There was still a long stretch of silence before Clint finally spoke.

“You didn’t have to come.”

He didn’t have to say the words for Natasha to know what he was thinking – that she shouldn’t have to deal with his issues, that she didn’t have to go out of her way for him, that he didn’t feel deserving of her comfort.

“I wanted to. You should know by now that I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

That drew a laugh out of him, at least, even if it was a wet one. Natasha rose and crossed the shed to sit down beside him, nudging Lucky around until there was space. Clint rolled his head to the side, not lifting it from his knees, so he could see her. He looked tired, with eyes red-rimmed and damp. It’d been a hell of a day.

“I didn’t want you to see this side of me,” he confessed. “I know you’ve seen me… low, but I didn’t want you to see me having a flashback.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

His laugh, this time, had a bitter edge to it.

“Maybe not, but it’s sure as shit a lot to deal with. You didn’t sign up for that.”

Natasha frowned at him.

“You know, I suspected you had PTSD as soon as I found out you were a veteran. I did my research. Don’t you dare go thinking I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

It was truly heartbreaking, how fragile and resigned Clint’s smile was. He was always so bright and joyous, able to light up any space. That he should ever have to feel so vulnerable just wasn’t right.

“Research and reality can be very different things.”

Natasha did her best not to take offense at Clint disregarding her ability to assess her own wants and desires. It wasn’t _her_ that he was doubting, but himself. Natasha had never been one to suffer from self-esteem issues, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to recognize them. Bucky had gone through several tough periods and had an on-going battle with depression that could leave him debilitated for days at a time if he got off his medication. Mental health was never an easy thing to deal with, no matter the situation, and pushing the people around you away was fairly standard procedure.

She might not be known for being very patient, but Natasha was definitely known for her dedication and stubborn resolve when she wanted something. Clint had another thing coming if he thought he could talk her out of the friendship they’d formed just because he struggled from time to time.

“You say that I didn’t sign up for your PTSD, but, if you think about it, I signed up for it more than you did.”

Now Clint’s head did rise, if only to stare at her bewilderedly.

“What?”

“You didn’t exactly _ask_ to get it. It was just a side-effect of your military service. I knew from our first meeting that I wanted to get to know more of you, and then I specifically took steps to make that happen. Your PTSD is a part of you, Clint, and I signed up for all of you.”

She shifted onto her knees, turning so she could face Clint fully. She wanted to show him that she really wasn’t going anywhere, that she was in this for wherever it took them, and there was only one way she could think of to make that abundantly clear. Butterflies crowded her stomach, fluttering away and sending her heart racing. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, she reached out to trail her fingertips across one of Clint’s cheekbones before pushing them into his hair, tucking some of the longer strands behind his ear.

“Nat-“ he started, but cut himself off, clearly at a loss of how to actually continue.

Lucky was still and quiet, just watching them. Natasha gave Clint a few more moments to pull away or decide this wasn’t what he wanted, before pushing forward and seizing the moment. Rising up a bit and leaning in, she pressed her lips against his.

The kiss was soft, simple, nothing but passive contact as Natasha waited to see how Clint would react. Her lids were lowered, but not closed as she watched for his reaction. There was a pause, a moment of time held in perfect suspension, before the tension seemed to melt out of Clint’s frame and he uncurled, turning and pressing closer to slot their lips together more fully. Fingers tentatively skimmed the side of Natasha’s neck and then slid around to cup the back when she pressed forward.

Tilting her head a bit more to the side and her eyes finally sliding shut the rest of the way, Natasha deepened the kiss. Their lips moved against each other, unhurried and not leading to anything more. It was a symbol of the shift in their relationship, one that seemed inevitable now that they were here. Natasha suddenly couldn’t think of why she hadn’t done this weeks ago, why she’d held back. A relationship with Clint would never be easy, but how could she ever keep her distance? She already knew that every moment would be worth it.

When they finally pulled apart, it was only to press their foreheads together, keeping as close to one another as they could.

“Wow,” Clint said, voice hushed as if afraid to speak too loudly and break the moment. Natasha could understand the fear. “I have to say; I wasn’t expecting that to be how today was going to go.”

“No complaints, though?”

The shadows still lingered in the depths of Clint’s gaze, but the smile he now wore was genuine.

“Definitely no complaints.”

There was a long road ahead of them, Natasha knew, but they could conquer it. Together.

.

“Clint! Come get your damned dog off me!”

Natasha couldn’t help smiling over her glass of sangria at the sight of Bucky, flat on his back with Lucky desperately trying to cover every inch of his face in slobbery kisses. Clint and Steve were no more than a few feet away, clutching each other to stay on their feet as they laughed at his plight. Peggy sat at one of the patio tables with Aimee and her girlfriend, chatting amongst themselves and looking amused. Carol, Sam, and Barney were stringing lights around the roof, while Pepper was managing the food and drink tables. Thor was helping Bruce set up a sound system that was sure to break at least a dozen noise ordinances, and more of their friends were scattered around the roof. Peter Quill was off in a corner, leaning dangerously far over the side of the roof while Gamora held the back of his coat with a bored, judgmental expression. There was a general sense of celebration in the air, and with good reason.

Clint’s debt was finally gone. He was free.

It’d taken a while, but it’d finally happened. Tony had even put the proceeds from one of their performances at the theatre toward the cause. Clint had absolutely hated it, but had also appreciated it beyond words. Tony was Clint’s opposite in a lot of ways and was definitely a lot more grandiose and showboat-y than Clint would ever feel comfortable with, but they’d managed to form a strange kind of friendship despite that. Huge, ridiculous gestures were part of how Tony showed his affection, no matter how ill-advised they might actually be, and Clint had learned to come to terms with that. It came from a place of wanting to help in any way he could, and that was something Clint could understand. He was the same way, as any of his tenants would attest to.

Actually, Clint had managed to fit in rather well among their friend group. It’d taken some adjustments on all of their parts, and there had been some rough patches, but they’d gotten here in the end. Now, Clint had been living in his own apartment for nearly eight months, after the former tenant had moved. He was still lazy about his shaving, and his lifestyle couldn’t be described as anything other than minimalistic, but Natasha didn’t mind any of that. She’d never been overly attached to _things_, anyway. She much preferred being attached to people.

“You seem happy,” a voice spoke up from just behind her, and Natasha turned to find Loki had arrived, a sangria of his own already in hand. As always, he was dressed impeccably well in a full suit, a bit fancier than the event called for.

Natasha gave him a nod of greeting.

“I am.”

“Good.”

They clinked their glasses together in a toast before Loki wandered off, probably to mock his brother for something or other. Natasha’s gaze found Clint once again, who had now given in and finally dragged Lucky off of Bucky, and couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her lips. Their eyes caught as he glanced her way, too, and he grinned broadly in response, blowing her a kiss and a wink.

Yes, Natasha was quite happy with her life. It was simple. She was surrounded by more friends than she’d thought she’d ever have, in all honesty. Her life was full and, what was more, she could share it with the people she wanted to share it with. There was nothing stopping her. She might not be super rich or famous, but that was okay. She didn’t want any of that. She had enough right here with her on the roof of this apartment building, all the people she cared about the most.

She didn’t need a thing.


End file.
